Things I did that helped me get through this time of grief and pain:

- Go for a walk outside/get some healthy exercise.
- Fill a playlist with upbeat MP3s (Jonathan Coulton, Weird Al, Tom Smith, ABBA, etc), and listen to them whenever possible.
- Pick up an old, creative hobby I hadn’t engaged in for a while (roleplaying, in my case. Yes, I am a geek.)
- Spend time in a social activity with friends (without discussing religion).
- Find ways to help people as I had when a Christian, without the Christian trappings (and realize that I am still the same person I always was).
- Find a support group of people who have gone through similar struggles (this site was a huge help for me!).
- Find people I could talk honestly to (see previous parenthetical).
- Journal (blog) the experience, and/or what led up to it.
- Remember to breathe!
- Meditate.
- Explore different faiths, different fellowships, different philosophies, and find out what I wanted from them, what I could offer to them, and (most importantly to me) what I could put my faith in.

How about you? What helped you through your de-conversion, if it was painful, or helps you through other times of trial now that prayer is no longer an option?

Proposition 1: I believe that there is an objective reality; that what is, is; that a = a.

• Clarification of the above Proposition: I believe that what is, is neither as good, as bad, or even as easily defined or comprehended as it first seems.
• Corollary of the above Clarification: I believe that labels, like all nouns and symbols, are useful tools- if you remember they are not what actually is.
• Addendum upon previous three statements: I believe that observation, experimentation, reason, and logic are the best tools we’ve yet found to learn what actually is.

Proposition 2: I believe that actions have consequences.

• Corollary on Proposition 2: I believe that what we think, say, do, and choose matters.
• Conclusion drawn from above Corollary and previous Clarification: What we think, say, do and choose matters, but rarely in the manner we expect or intend.
• Corollary on above Conclusion and previous Addendum: We don’t really know what we’re doing, but that’s no reason not to do our best. Please refer to Corollary two statements previous.

Proposition 3: I believe that value is extrinsic.

• Addendum on Proposition 3: I believe that we attribute value through ritual and sanctification (blessing, or intentionally making sacred/holy).
• Corollary on Propostions 1 through 3: I believe that we create what meaning and purpose there is, and can, through changing our choices, change what meaning and purpose we create.
• Addendum on above Corollary: I believe that empathy, introspection and reason are the best tools we’ve found yet for choosing what meaning and purpose to create, and that the ethic of reciprocity (popularly summarized as the Golden Rule) is the best starting point from which to employ our empathy, introspection and reason, with special attention paid to the resources we have to draw on and the needs which we can fill (including, but not limited to, our own).

Overly simplistic, yet still valid Conclusion drawn from everything said thus far in this creed (much to my pleasant surprise): I believe in love.

- Quester with thanks to all the support, fellowship and inspiration I’ve received on this site over the past two years!

The Old Testament is filled with contradictory laws and arbitrarily delivered punishments, but there was reason for hope. Some Judaic sects, like the first century Pharisees, used oral traditions to interpret, supplement and reconcile the written scripture so that it was possible to follow “God’s will”. Also, while the “punishments” were arbitrary to the point of sheer randomness, there was no reason to believe they continued after death.

Then Jesus came along, and made everything worse.

You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, ‘Do not murder, and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.’ But I tell you that anyone who is angry with his brother will be subject to judgment. Again, anyone who says to his brother, ‘Raca’ is answerable to the Sanhedrin. But anyone who says, ‘You fool!’ will be in danger of the fire of hell…. You have heard that it was said, ‘Do not commit adultery.’ But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell…. Again, you have heard that it was said to the people long ago, ‘Do not break your oath, but keep the oaths you have made to the Lord.’ But I tell you, Do not swear at all: either by heaven, for it is God’s throne; or by the earth, for it is his footstool; or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the Great King…. Simply let your ‘Yes’ be ‘Yes,’ and your ‘No,’ ‘No’; anything beyond this comes from the evil one. You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.’ But I tell you, Do not resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also…. You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven…. Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.

- Mt. 5: 21-22, 27-29, 33-35, 37-39, 43-44, 48

Thank-you, Jesus.

No longer are we only responsible for what we can control- our actions. Suddenly, our very thoughts and feelings condemn us. And to what do they condemn us? The fire of hell, to which a life of self-mutilation is preferrable. Worse, Jesus teaches that our words can come from the evil one. “The devil made me do it” is given the legitimacy of Jesus’ support as a reasonable fear. But Jesus doesn’t stop there. No, making thoughts and feelings we can not control into crimes deserving eternal torment and then suggesting that the devil can control our thoughts and words is not nearly enough. It’s hardly worse than Yaweh hardening the Pharoah’s heart and then punishing him for his hard heart.

Jesus goes further to tell us not to resist evil people when they strike at us, but to love and pray for them. Don’t stand up and fight for justice. Don’t rebel against oppressive authority. Don’t resist your abusive spouse. Instead, lovingly go further than they would have otherwise forced you to, and speak on their behalf to the God who either can not or will not grant you justice. Don’t resist. Don’t get angry. Don’t even think angry thoughts. You don’t want to go to hell, do you? Maybe it will be better after you die.

But maybe not. The infamous Sermon on the Mount is barely one third over yet, and Jesus has a small command yet to slip in, barely worth mentioning. Simply, “Be perfect”. Not just perfect, but perfect as God is perfect.

“Act righteously” is difficult enough, what with the swarming mass of contradicting and unreasonable laws, our thoughts and feelings being given the same weight as our actions, and standing against evil suddenly becoming evil in itself. Now Jesus is telling us, off-handedly, that we are held not to a human standard, but a godly one. We are to know and follow God’s will as sure as God Himself, no matter how poor a job God does in communicating His thoughts and will. We are to think as God thinks, feel as God feels, and resist evil as little as a God to whom no evil can be done. The measure to which we fall short from this standard is the measure to which we deserve unending torment, and therefore force God’s hand in punishing Jesus for our sake.

That’s right, punish Jesus for our sake. By some coincidence, just as the standards for righteousness become impossibly high and the punishment for failing to meet these standards unimaginably dire, we’re made an offer by the one person who can make it all go away. Never mind that the offer is being made by the only one to insist there was a problem in the first place. We’re offered a free pass, with no way to know whether or not we really have it, leaving us open to manipulation from anyone who can promise us certainty of our salvation. And as we’ve proved time and time again, that’s something we’re willing to commit almost any atrocity for.

Praise Jesus.

- Quester

Back in April, Leopardus posted a video about critical thinking and open mindedness. The same people have now made a video called Putting Faith in its place. This video shows the reasoning that led me to deconversion better than I could. Enjoy.

I asked no questions about whether what I drew matched what could be seen if I were to walk outside; I simply drew what everyone knew to be true.

A little older, I sat with my crayons in the back of the family station wagon and looked out the window toward the horizon. The clear, blue sky was not simply above me, but came all the way down to meet the golden, yellow fields we drove past. I drew a picture of a house, in the middle of a blank piece of paper. Then I used up half of my blue and my green crayons as I coloured ground and sky until they met each other behind the house.

I didn’t ask why I saw no blue close around me if the sky truly met the ground; I just drew what I thought I saw.

I joined Air Cadets while in high school, and I got to fly above the clouds. I looked at the patchwork pattern of fields below me, and the curious shapes of the tops of nearby clouds. I was in utter awe.

I never asked why the blue of the sky was still at a distance, even though I was above the clouds. I never thought about why there was no blue between myself and the clouds, or myself and the ground. I knew the sky was blue, and never thought about it, even while flying in the sky.

As an adult, it became my job to teach others what I knew. Students never ask the questions I expect, so I always feel the need to over-prepare. One day, I prepared myself to teach that the sky was blue, and began to think of all the questions and challenges I might face. The sky is blue, of course. You can go outside and see for yourself, except when the sky is overcast with clouds, or when the sun is setting. The sky is not blue at night, of course, and when you go up into the sky the blue is still above you or ahead of you instead of all around you.

As my thoughts chased themselves around my head, I realized that I did not know as much as I thought I had. I began to try to research questions such as “Why is the sky blue?” or “How high is the sky?” or even, “Is the sky blue?” The research was harder and more time-consuming than I’d imagined. I worked far into the night, each question leading to another question instead of the simple answers that satisfied me as a child.

Finally, I walked outside and looked up. There wasn’t a speck of blue to be seen. There was only darkness, generously sprinkled with dots of light. I gazed at the stars, and thought of each as a sun, some with their own planets in orbit. I imagined I could see straight out and see other planets, solar systems, and galaxies.

It suddenly struck me that there was nothing standing between myself and infinity.

For the first time in my life, I began to wonder if there was any such thing as a sky.

~ Quester

Where do you go when you leave the church?

1. I went back to church:

I got a job back in the town I had grown up in, and attended a few Lutheran worship services with friends who were part of the worship team there. It’s a beautiful service, but I was suddenly an outsider. Even as a theist, I would not participate in hymns or prayers I could not support the message of. Now, there was little I could give voice to. I had to get out and put some space between myself and church.

2. I studied other religions:

An old friend found me on Facebook. He’s been a member of the Sikh clergy since I last saw him. We exchanged a few stories, and I started reading up on Sikhism. I admired much of their philosophy that I could find, but I had no real connection to it.

3. I looked for a church-replacement:

I did Google searches for secular or humanist groups around here, with no success, then tried “universalism”. If nothing else, people who described themselves with such a term would not consider me hellbound.

I attended several services at the local Unitarian Universalist church. The similarities and differences between what I saw there and what I was accustomed to intrigued me. There were the rituals and chances for human interaction that church offered, as well as music and presentations on aspects of life and how to live it.

After attending a few times, I ran into some old friends who were now members of the UU. We caught up on old times and they asked me to lead a service at the UU for their newborn child. With the father now identifying as a secular humanist, and the wife still identifying as a theist Christian, they felt I could help provide a middle ground with something similar to a baptism, without the baptism part- a celebration and welcoming of new life.

This was a wonderful experience, but I did not feel a part of this community, really, nor any driving desire to become a part of the community. I still go back when I see they’ll be talking about something I find particularly interesting.

4. I hung out on the Internet.

This list isn’t particularly in chronological order. Throughout all of this, I was hanging out here, and on several other forums for ex-theists, atheists, humanists, secularists, freethinkers, etc. I even joined a short-lived forum for self-professed Christian heretics.

I really appreciate this community. You all have helped me through some rough times of transition. It is important to see others are struggling with the same issues, and helpful to argue and occasionally vent. At the same time, I sometimes find myself getting angrier and more frustrated then I want to be. More often than I’d like, I’ve begun to express that frustration.

There’s only so far that I can get, as well, in response to who I am not or who I used to be.

5. I tried again with the church replacement group:

I wanted to be a part of a group that stands for something, that tries to make a positive difference as part of who they are, and that I can meet with in person.

I went out one Sunday morning, and sat in a park for an hour of silence with the local Quakers. No sermon, teaching, preaching, and no committment asked- just silent meditation in the midst of nature. After, the members talked, and included me in theri conversations. Their passions of environmentalism, education and literacy tell me more about them than their church, but that does not trouble me.

It’s a lovely experience, but I’ve started socializing on Saturday nights, making Sunday mornings harder to be present for.

6. I start mixing and matching:

I met an intelligent and impressive young woman who I find out second-hand is a member of the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids. I ask her about it. She tells me her take on it and directs me to a website where I can look for myself. I listen to a podcast, and my jaw drops as I hear a presenter speaking about druidry as being adopted as a name for largely borrowed and cobbled-together philosophies and shared values of present worth, but little historical veracity. All right, that bit wasn’t very surprising; what stunned me was that the presenter’s comments were met with laughter! His audience of druids joyfully acknowledged they were largely making up their rituals and inventing their history, for the purpose of shared stories and thus community.

I had been a member of a group who did much the same thing for most of my life, but it would have broken most of the people around me to admit it. Including me.

Most intriguingly, I found a group of Druidic Naturalists (sadly, you have to log in to read anything on their site, but I found it more than worth my while). They were adopting the language and philosophies of various druidic traditions for their aesthetic value, while practicing a naturalistic worldview.

Several liberal Christians who have visited this site have asked why we can’t adopt Christian language and symbolism, though we don’t believe the stories actually happened. I can’t do this. One, because those stories meant so much to me when I did believe, and two, without belief in the God in the stories, I saw little worth in most of the stories, as stories. With Druidry, I did not have that problem (though I might when I actually learn more of their stories).

So, I finally had a philosophy I could value and support, in a shared language that intrigued me, that I could practice silently in the gatherings of local Quakers and have the benefit of face to face fellowship.

And once I found it, I no longer really felt the need for it.

7. I spend time with my wife and friends, engaging in hobbies and activities I’ve been away from for years:

Back in my old hometown, I gradually re-connected with some old friends. Those I had nothing in common but our shared faith, we drifted apart again shortly after re-connecting. But not every activity I had engaged in was based on my theism. I spent some of my latter teen years as a gamer geek- I used to semi-regularly gather with friends around a table with pencils, paper and dice, and pretend to be an elf, pirate, vampire hunter, courtly diplomat, or other such-like, following rules from several published games or ones written by friends of mine.

I actually met my wife through an old gaming group, many moons ago.

After roughly a decade, friendships evolve and people move and return, but my wife and I found ourselves part of three regularly meeting gaming groups, mostly made up of old friends. Some of these friends are Christians of various flavours. Some are pagans of one stripe or another. Some are secular humanists. One is trying to get a local branch of the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster up and running. All of us are geeks who love a good story and enjoy gathering to kibitz and share laughter.

I may again feel the need for philosophy, meditation, membership labels, and trying to make an impact on the larger world. Right now, telling stories and sharing fun with my wife and our friends is a nice place to be. I’m burning no bridges and keeping in light touch with those groups and gatherings I’ve found, but I feel more at home now than I have in years.

This isn’t a point that everyone reaches. For some, the same arguments which cause them to doubt the existence of a god (problems with scripture, the existence of multiple religions with contrasting views, logical problems with an omnipotent, omniscient, benevolent deity creating a world where evil happens, simple lack of evidence, etc.) also keep them from being able to believe in a hell enough to fear it.

For others of us, it was studying the contradictory and confusing Biblical descriptions of Hell and how to avoid it that helped us realize that the hypothesis of God made no sense. By the time we came to doubt God, we already had lost our fear of hell.

But when you wake up at two in the morning from a nightmare inspired by Sunday school depictions of eternal torment, not everyone finds logic and reason to be persuasive enough to chase away fear. Some find, at times like these, a story can bring more ease than a rehearsal of facts.

For de-converting (or even faithfully believing) Christians troubled by thoughts of Hell, I like to recommend two books. Both were written by believing Christians. Both operate on the premise that God exists and is benevolent. I don’t expect either to be of any help or interest to atheists or agnostics (though I could be wrong), but fears need to be faced where you are, not where you’d like to be or where you think you’ll be ending up. I’m writing this post under the premise that some de-converting Christians might need to face their fears about de-converting as Christians before they can let go of their Christianity.

The first book is The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis. It’s a story of those residents of Hell who take the gracious opportunity to leave Hell and enter Heaven. The story goes to great lengths to show that those who reside in Hell are there because they choose to be and discard any choice to leave. The afterlife is portrayed as a continuation of this one, on a different field. Life is still all about coming into closer union with God, but how to do so is much clearer.

The second book, Good Goats- Healing our Image of God by Dennis Linn, Sheila Fabricant Linn and Matthew Linn. It’s a very short book that is easy to read and works off the premise that God loves us at least as much as the person who loves us most. They look carefully at biblical depictions of Hell, and consider that the word “eternal” does not mean “forever” but “outside of time” or (as they put it) “in God’s time”. Hell is not forever, but only for as long as the being who loves you most (and has your best interests in heart) feels is necessary.

Both of these books helped me past my fear, allowing me to get to the point where I could actually question their basic premises- but others have written posts on what scriptures and soteriology (salvation theology) imply about God’s morality and what the world around us tells us about the likelihood of God’s existence. I won’t repeat them here.

What I will repeat is a re-telling of a Bible story that may aid those still struggling. I don’t present this as a substitute for facts or reason, but as an aid for those it might help, so that they can reach the point where they can objectively view and accept what their reason tells them.

A re-telling of Luke 10:25-37.

One day, a theologian decided to challenge a street preacher. “Preacher,” he asked, “what must we do to be saved?”

“What is written in the Gospels?” the preacher replied. “What do you read there?”

The theologian answered answered: “It is through Jesus that we are saved. We must believe in Him.”

“You have answered correctly,” the preacher replied. “Do this and you will live.”

But the theologian wanted to justify himself, so he asked the preacher, “And who is this Jesus that we must believe in?”

In reply, the preacher said: “A man was walking downtown, when he fell into the hands of robbers. They stole everything, even his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him to die. After he died, Jesus came to him, wearing a frayed loincloth and a crown of thorns. Blood dripped from his hands, feet, brow and side. He was beaten but not broken, and there was a fanatic gleam in his eyes when he raised his head to snarl,

“Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.” (Mt. 25:41b-43)

Again, Jesus came to him, blond and blue-eyed with a sad smile and a pure white robe. He sat in the midst of quiet children and clean sheep and gently told the man,

“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only he who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. Many will say to me on that day, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and in your name drive out demons and perform many miracles?’ Then I will tell them plainly, ‘I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers!’” (Mt. 7:21-23)

A third time, Jesus came to him, almost unrecognizably: a young, Jewish man with traces of sawdust on his faded blue jeans. When he saw the man he took pity on him. He went to him and healed his wounds, tears of compassion falling down his face. Then he took the man up in his arms, and carried him to our Heavenly Father. “Look after him,” he said, “I have paid for any debt he may owe.”

“Which of these three do you think was a saviour to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”

The theologian replied, “The one who had mercy on him.”

The street preacher smiled, “Go and do likewise.”

- Quester

One of the first things my mentor asked me to do was read a book called The Shack, written by William P. Young. The tagline on the front cover reads, “Where tragedy confronts eternity” and on the back cover is the claim that in Young’s story, he wrestles with the question, “Where is God in a world so filled with unspeakable pain?” Young wrestles with this question through the fictional character Mackenzie Allen Phillips (or Mack, for short), who suffers some horrible tragedies in his life, then one day receives an invitation in his mailbox which may or may not be from God.

Please be aware that this article contains SPOILERS and that if you want to be surprised by anything in the book, you should read the book before finishing this article. You may still find nothing in the book to be surprising, but at least that won’t be my fault.

Much of my realization that there either is no God or that the Christian portrayal of God is horribly wrong stems from the immense suffering in this world. My mentor hoped that this book would help me see that suffering- and God- in a different light. A little more than a week ago, my mother wanted to lend me the same book for the same reason. They both really enjoyed this book and the images of God portrayed within.  The first person of the Trinity, God the Creator, is presented as an earthy, African woman called Papa. The second person of the Trinity, God the Intercessor, is portrayed as a male, Jewish carpenter called Jesus. The third person of the Trinity, God the Holy Spirit, is portrayed as a mystic oriental woman called Sarayu. Sophia, a personification of God’s wisdom, also makes an appearance before the novel is over.

Much of the novel, and much of the online response to this novel, is spent dealing with these portrayals of God. If your problem with God is that you picture Him as an angry, bearded white man in the sky looking for an excuse to smite you, this novel may help you find a healthier image to keep in mind. Alternatively, you can read Good Goats: Healing our Image of God where the Linns do a better job of the same thing. Finding healthy images of God is important for theists to do, because if we believe in a God, we will often find ourselves acting in the manner we believe God acts (creating, condemning, forgiving, hiding, killing, or whatever). If, however, you hoped The Shack would address what it says it will and talk about how any conception of a compassionate and powerful God can co-exist with the slightest comprehension of how much suffering there is in the world, you are likely to be disappointed as I was.

Actually, I was disappointed, insulted, and deeply angered.

The main message of The Shack is that all suffering is the result of choosing to live independently from God, rather than in a relationship of mutual submission with God. That’s right, mutual submission. God wants us to submit to God, while God submits to us. God is already submitting to us, giving us the independence we have chosen, despite how painful the consequences of that independence are (to us, at least). Because we have chosen independence from God, we have felt a need to impose certainty where there isn’t any and create religion, politics and economics, “the man-created trinity of terrors that ravages the earth and deceives those [God] care[s] about” (179). Any suffering that does not result from man-made religion, politics, or economics is said to result from the rest of Creation being dragged from it’s proper place by man (the pinnacle of Creation)’s choosing the “ravaged path of independence” (132). Thus, all suffering is our fault: the results of our choice to be independent from God.

God has all the power and all the knowledge, but suffering is all our fault and God loves us so much that God lets us suffer out of submission to our will. Thanks, God.

But wait, there’s more!

Because all shame, humiliation, guilt and condemnation were nailed into Jesus at the cross, we are free now to choose to reconcile ourselves to God, entering into a relationship of mutual submission which will incrementally lead to a redemption of suffering. Maybe not soon enough to do anyone any good, but still, doesn’t God deserve an A for effort?

No. For while all suffering is our fault for not choosing to trust God and submit to God’s will, the story of The Shack slowly shows how it is impossible for any of us to choose God. We are doomed to suffer, unless God does anything about it, and God will not do anything about it, because God respects our “choice” though at the same time God has stacked the deck so that we can not choose otherwise. As Sarayu (the Holy Spirit) tells us through her words to Mack:

Mackenzie, you cannot produce trust just like you cannot ‘do’ humility. It either is or is not. Trust is the fruit of a relationship in which you know you are loved. Because you do not know that I love you, you cannot trust me (126).

Personally, I’d say that trust comes from knowledge of character and capability, not just knowledge of love, but either way there is a problem. A problem beyond the sheer absurdity of describing humanity as the pinnacle and point of Creation or blaming natural disasters on human independence. In order to trust God, love God, submit to God, and choose to depend on God instead of acting independently, we need to know something about God. We do not need to know everything about God, but we need to at least know we can find God and distinguish God from, say, random chance, drunken hallucinations or a slight case of indigention. Otherwise, what we put our trust in may not be God. Again, as Sarayu says, we need to constantly check the accuracy our perceptions and the truthfulness of our paradigms (197).

Why is this a problem? Young does not mention explicitly what we are to compare our perceptions and paradigms to in order to check their accuracy, and throughout the story takes away everything we could compare our perceptions and paradigm to, if we were to reach a point where we could trust God and enter into a relationship of mutual submission with God.  Young tries to tell us that the only thing we can compare our paradigms and perceptions to is God’s self. That’s the only way we can truly understand God, anything in God’s creation, or the suffering in God’s creation.

Young demonstrates this in an intellectually insulting and emotionally manipulative scene where Mack is called, against his will, to sit in judgement. When doing so, Mack comes to the sudden and startling realization that all the many judgements he had made in his life “had been superficial, based on appearance and actions, things easily interpreted by whatever state of mind or prejudice that supported the need to exalt himself, or to feel safe, or to belong” (160). It might be useful to point out right now, that Mack, who is suddenly realizing his human understandings of good and evil are no more than self-centred ideas of pleasant and unpleasant, or convenient and inconvenient, was tied to a tree when he was thirteen. His father tied him there and beat him over a period of two days, whenever he woke from his drunken stupor and put down his bottle. It took two weeks before he recovered enough to walk under his own power. Later on, as an adult, Mack’s youngest daughter is kidnapped by a serial killer who expertly killed her and hid her body, as he had four other little girls beforehand. These are among the actions Mack suddenly dismisses as personally unpleasant or inconvenient, instead of judging them as evil.

Young’s Sophia, a personification of God’s wisdom, confuses the issue further by not allowing Mack to judge actions, but demanding he judge people. Sophia asks who is really to blame for these evil actions, the ones who acted, the parents of those who acted, or God who started it all. Mack blamed God, and Sophia told him that if he could judge God, surely he could judge humanity, and ordered Mack to choose three of his five children to be condemned eternally to hell. After all, this is what Mack believes God does.

Seriously, this is how Young tries to set up God as the only possible objective source of morality and touchstone for understanding reality: telling Mack he can’t judge God’s actions, but only God, and cannot judge God unless he can choose three of his own children to condemn to hell. This somehow passes as wisdom. My problem with this is that you can judge actions without condemning those who act, and you can judge God without having to condemn your own children. After all, Mack was not, at that time, judging God for condemning most of God’s children to hell, just for the hell on earth so many people suffer through. And just because Mack would not choose for his children to suffer does not mean God would not choose the same thing. By looking at the suffering that does exist, it is obvious that God has chosen to allow it, and can be judged accordingly.

But let’s pretend that Young’s little judgement scene convinced us that God is the only source of objective morality, or a proper understanding of reality. We still have the problem that we can not perceive God outside of God’s self-revelations to us. The Bible, creation, and personal revelations are typically how God is understood as revealing God’s self to us, and thus are all we can look at to learn about God (and thus choose to lovingly trust God and submit ourselves to God).

Sarayu says she will speak to Mack in the Bible, as well as art, music, silence, through people and in Creation (198). The Bible is given no real place of honour in the list. Later, she tells Mack that the biblical commandments (at least the infamous “ten”) were not given for us to follow to know how to live righteously, but to convince us of the impossibility of living righteously independent of God (202). Reminds me of my grade ten algebra teacher who put grade twelve geo-trig questions on one of our exams to prove to us that we would fail if we didn’t listen silently in class. Now, most of the bible is made up of commandments. If the commandments are not to be followed, or even trusted, as signs of God’s will for us, what is?

Creation is even more problematic in Young’s Shack. Humans (according to Young’s portrayal of the Holy Spirit) were created as the pinnacle of creation. When we chose the “ravaged path of independence” we dragged all of Creation with us (132). How can we seek God’s revelation in God’s Creation, if we have made it all into something other than it was intended to be?

There are (according to Sarayu) still signs of what God intended within creation. Think of all those poisonous plants that, if treated properly, can provide much-needed medicines. God intended those, and hid them on purpose because all children love hide and seek and we are God’s children (132). I could almost feel my heart break when I read those words.

I am surprised Young doesn’t notice how callous and cruel his portrayal of God is. Perhaps we could make it clearer by asking him to pretend someone he cares for is suffering terribly and the medicine that will ease that suffering is in a pharmacy we have access to and will let him take all the pills he wants, free of charge. The pills are not labelled; too few of the correct pills will do nothing; too many will act as poison; the wrong pills may ease a symptom, but will not cure the illness, or they may poison the sufferer. Still, if he thinks of it as a game of hide and seek, then it’s all good. Isn’t it?

If God wants to hide things to encourage us to have fun exploring, there are many wonders that can be found with effort. Purposefully hiding medicines that someone needs to survive, is evil.

As for personal revelation, I already mentioned that Young’s Holy Spirit is willing to communicate in many ways. She will not speak loudly or clearly, and expects us to make mistakes trying to listen to her as that’s part of life (195-6). Not being able to tell what God’s will is so that we can choose to submit to it is a part of life. We are forced to independently reason and choose and make mistakes, because no revelation will be made clearly and unmistakably to us. Never mind that all suffering is the result of us choosing independence rather than submission. Never mind that we can not trust or submit to God if we can’t tell what is or isn’t God, let alone what is God’s will for us. Young’s God has cheerfully set us up to suffer and take the blame for our own suffering at the same time. But she assures us that when it is all made right (somehow, somewhere, sometime, presumably after we’re all dead), we will agree that it was worth the pain (125). Isn’t that nice to know?

In Young’s defence, his stated purpose for the book (according to his blog) was to write something for his children so that they could see how he has come to view God. He may have succeeded in that purpose. There’s no way I can know. Sadly, he chose to publish this book and it was published with a cover claiming this book would tell us where God is “in a world so filled with unspeakable pain”.

Apparently, God’s in a shack.

- Quester

I boxed the birthday card the Sunday school had made for me, telling me, “Yu are a good Minster”. I packed away the photos of the confirmation class I taught, and the farewell gifts presented to me by the congregations I ministered to. I also found, and carefully packed, gifts I had been given at my ordination: from my family, from the congregation of the church I interned at, and even a a few from some of the dear women who had taught me Sunday school decades previously. They were all so proud and so happy for me at my ordination. I felt like such a disappointment as I put their gifts in boxes to go with me on my move. I couldn’t throw these things out, though. Not yet. It would hurt too much. It doesn’t matter that I have no practical use for greeting cards, angel statuettes, or portable communion kits. I look at these things and think about the people who gave these to me, people who felt that God had touched their lives through me, and now I could not even manage to believe that there is a God who could do so.

Then there are the things I’ve bought myself, with God in mind. Shelves full of books I bought, knowing that I would be in rural parishes and would have access to no theological library other than one I brought with me. Shelf after shelf of books on preaching, pastoral care, ethics, theology, liturgy and the Bible. I had to decide what I wanted to do with these now. Do I try to sell these to other clergy, or keep them in case I find some reason to believe once again and sense a renewed call to ordained ministry. I can’t imagine this happening, but years ago, I couldn’t imagine not believing. The limits of my imagination have been proven to be smaller than the limits of what the future might hold.

I end up deciding to keep the books, and the Christian videos too. The videos are of Rob Bell and Veggie Tales, for the most part. My wife is still Christian and enjoys watching these.

CD’s of Christian music go into boxes, and I find myself wondering if I even know what sort of music I like. I bought Christian CD’s because I knew I could trust the lyrics, more than any actual appreciation for the music. It’s not that I don’t like the music, or didn’t, but what do I listen to now?

One of the most personally disturbing moments for me is packing away my clergy vestments: those black shirts with the white, plastic collar tabs; the long, white gowns (albs) and colourful scarves (stoles). My mother made me those stoles, and one of those albs was a gift from the church I interned at. And now the whole lot is packed in the same box as my tie-dyed lab coat and purple zoot suit. How long will it take before these vestments which told people who I was and what I stood for become simply costume pieces like the clothing they are being boxed in with? Do I want them to? If not, what do I want?

I respectfully burned the holy oils, returned the dried palm branches to the church, and solemnly poured the holy water into the garden, but there is so much I have left. Books, CDs, DVDs, shirts, “Jesus junk” and mementos… I am finally moved into my apartment, and have been for a week, but there are boxes I do not want to open again. At the same time, I do not want to throw them out. They are part of who I was, and helped make me who I am. They are gifts from loved ones, or investments into a future I no longer expect to have, but sometimes still wish I did.

Over the last several months, I have seen many metaphors for de-conversion on different websites such as this one. Lately, the metaphor that resonates most strongly with me is divorce. My friends and family still claim to see God, continue relationships with God, invite God to gatherings and grow nervous about offending me by mentioning God in my presence in case I am angered by our recent separation.

I am not angered that God has left me, or abandoned me or betrayed me. I don’t feel that is the case. After all, God has a perfectly understandable reason for not being a part of my life. God does not exist. I just can’t bring myself to take that personally. So, I am not angry, but I am sometimes very depressed that life is not how I pictured it would be, the world is not as I thought and I am not in a relationship I had devoted my life to. Perhaps this is part of growing up- a process that hopefully does not stop with becoming an adult- but that does not make anything any less painful. I do try to not take that pain out on my loved ones as I try to guess how best to respond to their attempts at tactful circumspection.

The divorce metaphor is underscored for me in that it seems in the aftermath of my committed relationship, I have been allowed to keep everything but the house, and almost everything I have reminds me of God and the relationship I thought we had. I want to start anew, but at the same time do not want to disown or even disrespect who I was. I can not progress from the past by disdaining it, but by building on it. Figuring out how to do so is not easy, and having to downsize as I move from a house to an apartment adds an extra layer of complexity to ice the cake with, but life is beginning to look up again as I enter into some new beginnings and re-establish some old relationships.

This is what I’ve been up to, and part of why you haven’t been hearing from me in the last month. And it leaves me with a question to those of you who have travelled similar paths as I am now:

When you de-converted, what did you do with all of your “stuff”?

- Quester

There are choices to be made, though, in what goals one will choose to pursue, and what means one will employ to pursue those goals. Is it best to spend time and energy challenging every theist or even every theistic argument one encounters? Or is this like giving money to an individual begging you for money instead of giving to a charity that provides food for the hungry, shelter for the homeless, or medicine for the sick? I have heard this latter question debated in classrooms and hallways, on Internet forums and television shows. In some ways, it depends on what you are trying to accomplish by giving your money away.

If I give money to an individual, I may help that one individual meet a need or desire. If I give money to a charity, I may help attack the root of the problem that causes the need or desire to exist. Or, I may find other choices outside of those two. There may be other ways to attack the root of the problem. Would different legislation or education help people get the jobs they need, learn how to use their money wisely, provide affordable housing opportunities or draw us closer to finding affordable cures for diseases?

Even if I can find more efficient ways to use my time and money to combat the problems of hunger, homelessness and sickness, I am still free to choose to give some money to an individual who asks for some. Sometimes my goal is not to help the most people in the most efficient manner, but to see an immediate result from my actions in a way that is pleasing to me. I am not proposing that anyone be obliged to choose one action or another, but that we think about what goals we have and the best ways in order to meet those goals. However, if I choose to give my money to the begging individual, they might choose to spend the money alcohol and gambling or simply give it to someone else instead of on food or medicine.

Applying this example to our original question on whether or not it is best to spend time and energy challenging every theist or even every theistic argument one encounters, the theist may take the challenge as a spur to re-think theism, ignore or be offended by the challenge, consider the challenge evidence in and of itself that theism is a rational belief, or take the challenge itself as something to be taken as an article of faith until someone louder or more articulate comes along.

One can choose to become anti-theist. One can also choose to become pro-reason. The two are not inherently exclusive, but you only have so much time and energy to devote to any cause or endeavour. If the problem with theism is that it is an irrational belief, I can choose to respond to this problem by encouraging critical thinking. I can create novels, movies or video games in which critical thinking is required to solve mysteries and triumph. I can support my local public library or spend time teaching people how to read. Can you think of other choices we can make? Are there ways we can influence systems of legislation or education in order to increase access to tools people can use to help them think critically? The answers will be different in different countries, but the starting questions are the same.

Even after finding more effective and efficient ways to encourage critical thinking and rational examinations of personal paradigms, I will likely choose to spend some time challenging individual irrational beliefs as I encounter them. Sometimes my goal is not to help the most people in the most efficient manner, but to see an immediate result from my actions in a way that is pleasing to me. Also, if I see an immediate danger that might be caused by irrational actions, I may choose to intervene. I do not always see a need, though, to confront or challenge individual irrational ideas or those who hold them. Confrontation will not help, in every instance, to encourage critical thinking or otherwise reach toward a goal of discouraging irrational actions.

For example, if my father tells me he is praying for me, or someone blesses me after I sneeze, I have no desire to take offence and see no real benefit in confrontation, so I choose to do neither. In the same line, at no time would my choosing to mock or humiliate a theist suddenly provide them with the capability to think critically about something if they have never learned how to do so.

If I have a goal of encouraging critical thinking, I may as well pursue it rationally.

- Quester